normal girl
by cedricsowner
Summary: Pre first season: Winston and Guerrero are fed up with certain antics of Chance... and give him a strict order. Now, we all know how well Chance deals with orders, but in this case... Contains Chance x OFC. Hopelessly romantic, probably Mary-Sue-ish, lots of fluff. Final chapter up!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

"Take that shirt off, dude, or I make you take it off." Guerrero's voice was calm.

Like the calm before the storm.

"I'm not going to let you put ANY needles into me. NO WAY! Whom do you think you're kidding, you're not…ARGHHHHHH."

Winston found himself pinned to the ground in prone position, his legs and arms twisted in a simple but darn effective way.

"Okay, wiseass, you took me down, but how exactly are you planning to get to my wound? I'm still wearing my shirt!"

The distinctive snap of a jackknife silenced Winston.

Momentarily.

"What the hell are you doing with the knife? You're not seriously…? Don't you DARE!"

"Stop wriggling, dude, or I'll have to add more stitches."

A soft tearing sound confirmed Winston's suspicions. Guerrero was cutting the back of his shirt in half to get to the large gash right under his left shoulder blade.

"That was a genuine Supima cotton shirt!"

"It was soaked with blood anyway. You would have never gotten the stains out. Those massive amounts of iron and non-polar substances only react to ammonia-based cleaners. Ammoniac damages the structure of delicate fabric. Seriously not cool." Still keeping Winston firmly pinned to the ground, Guerrero put on rubber gloves and started meticulously cleaning the deep injury.

"So now you're an expert on spot removal, too?"

"Cleaning up afterwards comes with the territory, dude."

Winston would have tried bucking Guerrero off, but by now he had gotten to the needle part and truth to be told, he was good at stitching up wounds. Winston just didn't like how he had most likely gotten his expertise.

Grumbling a couple of expletives he relaxed and let Guerrero work.

"Wouldn't Winston be more comfortable sitting up?" Chance, hand still in the makeshift bandage he had improvised while Winston had dashed off from the explosion site with the van, came walking in and flopped down on one of the kitchen chairs.

Neither Winston nor Guerrero graced him with an answer. All he received were some very sinister looks.

Chance sighed. "So we're still having this argument?"

"You went off on your own", Winston growled.

"Walked right into a trap so obvious, you could have seen it from the moon. Seriously not cool, dude."

"Okay, look, I admit I might have underestimated the Martinez brothers' manpower a little… and, yeah, their alarm system, too… but I really would have managed on my own. You said you wouldn't help and I was fine with that." Chance made a point of not wincing as he slowly unwrapped the bandage.

"Dude, we found you tied up inside a heap of tires, drenched in gas, ready to be set on fire."

"I was already working on the problem." The burn mark on the back of Chance's hand was more serious than he had originally thought. The contact with the benzoline from the gas hadn't exactly helped the healing process. He had carefully cleaned the wound, but the raw flesh was still aflame from the chemical substance.

Ah well, Chance didn't mind the pain tonight. It kept his thoughts off other things.

Guerrero let Winston go, got up, walked over to the kitchen table, sat down in front of Chance and reached for his friend's hand.

Chance withdrew it. "I can handle that."

With lightning speed Guerrero's hand shot forward, grabbed Chance's wrist and pinned it to the table top. He looked Chance directly in the eyes. No words needed. Chance didn't struggle.

"We think you've already handled enough for today", Winston grunted, got up from the floor, too, picked up Guerrero's medical field kit and handed it to him.

"Granted, I might have made mistake or two…" , Chance admitted disgruntledly.

"MISTAKE? Chance, you weren't thinking straight! Not at all!", Winston finally exploded into the rant he had been holding back for past couple of hours. "You barged in there like some Mexican peddlers market Captain America pirate copy. Did the word "TRAP" even cross your mind?"

"The ex muddled your thoughts. Completely", Guerrero stated.

"Like Harry when he attempted to find that diamond ring in that riverbed", Winston added.

Chance rolled his eyes. "You two rehearsed this or something?"

"Whenever one of your exes comes into play, dude, things go south."

"Completely", Winston stated. "You even got us two agreeing. How much worse can it get?"

"Is there any point to your lecture…?" Chance rolled his eyes and then winced after all as Guerrero applied more iodine to the wound.

"I know you don't want to hear this Chance…", Winston began cautiously, "…but before you pull the I'm-a-mysterious-ex-assassin-with-a-dark-dark-past -so-leave-me-the-hell-alone-y'all act, hear us out. I'll put this as delicately as possible…"

"You've got to get a grip on your love life, dude."

Trust Guerrero not to mince words.

"Okay, that's it, did you two inhale something when the main building blew up?"

"Chance, I've known you for five years now. In those five years EVERY DAMN TIME one of your ex-girlfriends showed up you completely lost it – all caution went out the window, you risked everything just for the sake of old times!"

Winston wasn't really in the mood to mince words either. The gash on his back was painful despite the painkillers he had taken.

"You need a steady relationship, dude. With a normal chick."

Now Chance definitely had heard enough. He pushed his chair backwards and got to his feet. "Yeah, thanks Dr. G. And Winfrey, your input is appreciated, but I really don't…"

"Sit down, dude." Guerrero's voice was tinged with the implication that he could adopt other measures than simply asking.

"All your exes are handfuls, Chance", Winston tried again. "You always fall for the women with the shady past and the heavy-calibered gun in the purse. They usually come with two or three thugs trailing after. You help them out of the mess, they disappear, only to emerge again when they've managed to bury themselves in even deeper shit. You help them out again… they disappear… you mope around for a week, jaw set, play video games, jump at the next opportunity to go toe-to-toe with some heavily armed crew… Am I the only one seeing a pattern here?"

"Have your eyes checked." Chance was in serious five-year-old sulking mood now.

"Long story short: You're afraid to get hurt, dude, so you deliberately only choose the chicks that will soon be gone again. Best way not to get attached. Simple case of self-fulfilling prophecy. And quite the recipe to disaster."

Chance decided that he'd rather risk facing Guerrero's _other measures_ than listening to this shrink crap any longer.

"You're both nuts!"

He stormed out of the room.

"Prove us wrong! Go out with a normal girl!", Winston yelled after him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Chance spent the night following the dispute with Winston and Guerrero playing video games and watching bits of TV in his living-room. Yes, a more appropriate term to describe his behavior would be "sulking". It was NOT true that he deliberately chose women who meant trouble just so that he didn't have to engage in a long-term relationship and risk getting attached!

He knew Winston and Guerrero were both thinking about Katherine Walters. They were both convinced he wasn't over her. Well yes, he was definitely still hell-bent on paying Baptiste back for taking that innocent woman's life. But this had more to do with him loathing his personal failure of not being able to protect her. He was mourning someone who had, more than anyone else he had ever met, not deserved to die.

But had he loved her?

Yes, the grace, generosity and mercy with which she faced the world had touched his heart, deeply. She had interfered to protect Guerrero although he had come to kill her.

Would things have worked out between them? He would have liked to find out.

Meeting Katherine, in hindsight, seemed more like a punishment to him - God's or fate's or whatever's custom made retribution for the deeds he had committed as an assassin - than the single great love story of his life. What could be more hurtful than finding someone you wish to protect more than anything else and then losing her to a professional hit?

He, as Junior, had snatched away so many lives... the loss of Katherine in this specific way was a very appropriate sentence.

Was he afraid of losing more people he cared about? Again, hell yeah. But that had nothing to do with deliberately dating the "wrong" women! Winston and Guerrero were absolutely, completely off the track with this! He did care about his exes, why else would he always take such huge risks when one of them was involved in a job? He wished they could stay together, really - it just wasn't meant to be.

_He _wasn't meant to be with someone forever. His past disqualified him for any kind of happily ever after.

... ... ...

Maybe it was because he had been thinking about Katherine so much, but in the rather early morning Chance decided to pack Carmine into the car and take him for a long walk in the coastal part of the Presidio. Carmine, of course, was excited. More often than not it was Winston who took him outside for a short stroll around the block. Being out with Chance, his beloved master ever since his puppy days, was a great treat.

Chance, however, couldn't help but think that he was failing Carmine, too. The dog needed a proper diet and regular training. He was definitely carrying too much weight around and his response time to commands was improvable, mildly put.

Extremely improvable, as it turned out.

On a vast stretch of grass between two groups of trees Chance let Carmine off his leash and threw a stick for him to fetch it. Carmine shot after the stick.

For about a split second.

Then he suddenly stopped.

Sniffed the air.

And off he went to the opposite side of the meadow.

"Carmine! CARMINE! Heel! HEEL!"

Apparently Carmine had just as many issues with orders as his master. He disappeared between the trees.

Cursing, Chance rushed after him.

On the other side of the group of trees was a bench overlooking the Bay. On the bench sat a woman. She was wearing a thick wool pullover and Jeans. The wind was tugging at her shoulder length brunette hair. She was frowning at Carmine from beneath rather huge dark-rimmed glasses. There was a sandwich in her hand.

No surprise the dog had lost all interest in the stick.

"He's harmless!", Chance yelled while approaching. Carmine was probably the gentlest soul one could think of, but he was a rather huge Rottweiler after all. At first glance he was quite intimidating, and since he had shown up out of the blue…

"I know", the woman replied. "His body language is relaxed: The eyes are in normal shape, neither too big nor too small, the mouth is slightly open, his ears are pulled back slightly – he's in friendly mood and hoping that I'll acknowledge his presence. I guess it's the sandwich that put me on his whitelist. Do you often feed him with food from the table?"

"Guess I spoiled him a bit when he was younger…" Chance wasn't quite sure what to make of the woman's lecture on canine behavior. In general he didn't like people who constantly felt the need to share their wisdom with the rest of the world. On the other hand it _was _quite impressive: She had only just met Carmine and not only correctly read his current "I'm a tiny puppy caught in this big body of a Rottweiler, a bit of your sandwich would make me soooo happy"-routine, she had also quite rightly guessed how he had developed that routine.

"A mistake a lot of people commit. Luckily lots of bad habits can be corrected with a bit of training and consistency on the owner's side. I suggest visiting a dog obedience school."

Ooookay, the woman had just crossed the line to being a female wiseass.

"You a dog trainer?", Chance asked, hooking Carmine to his leash once more.

"I grew up on a farm. Dogs can be valuable tools if trained correctly. Most people forget that they're dealing with wolves in disguise and treat their dogs like toys, or worse, humans in furry form."

"Well Carmine surely isn't _a_ _tool. _He's a friend", Chance more or less snapped at her. Jeez, she had made it from "wiseass" to "annoyance" in under a minute.

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

Chance decided not to grace her with an intelligible reply. Instead he mumbled something that included "well" and "yeah" and proceeded to pull Carmine away.

"A dog should always follow its master on the grounds of vocal commands or hand gestures…", the woman commented.

Rolling his eyes, Chance walked away.

… … ….

On his way back to the warehouse Chance stopped at a butchery and bought Carmine a fresh treat.

"Hey, what have you been up to?", Winston asked as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Met a normal girl!", Chance snarled and disappeared upstairs, into his private quarters.

At around the same time a telephone rang in a small apartment in Potrero Hill. A brunette woman, not terribly tall, a bit chubby around the hips, answered with a sigh. Her name was Jamie.

"So, did you go to see the sunrise?", the familiar voice of a very old friend, Cassandra, asked.

"Yes." Jamie was not a woman of many words. At least not when she had the feeling someone was intruding in her personal space.

"Yes…and?" Trust an old friend to not let go that easily.

"It was an elevating experience. Filled me with awe. I'm still completely overwhelmed."

Cassandra sighed. "Okay, and now the truth for a change…"

"I think I caught a cold."

Back in Wisconsin, Cassandra rubbed her forehead in slight frustration.

"There was also a guy with a spoiled dog", Jamie continued.

Cassandra needn't inquire further…


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

Harry.

A completely easy job, like shooting fish in a barrel.

Harry AND a completely easy job, like shooting fish in a barrel.

Need I say more?

It ended with Guerrero having to undress, put on skin tight shorts and oiling up to crawl through a 30 inches ventilation shaft, the only entry to the upper half of the building that housed a popular night club on the second floor. Nobody would have guessed that from the fourth floor onwards everything was secured like Fort Knox – state of the art security system, trigger happy guards with military black ops background, no sense of humor at all.

Trust Harry to manage to get kidnapped and held in custody right at the center of it.

"I'm going to KILL him for that", Guerrero snarled as he covered himself in the slippery substance.

"I might offer a hand", Winston grumbled. "This is definitely a new low in this job. Worse than Bangkok! FAR worse!"

"Dude! It's not my fault I needed help with oiling up my back!"

"Seriously, Winston, if you have a problem with two consenting males in a van in a back alley, shed clothes, a bit of oil and skin contact, San Francisco might not be the right city for you…"

"SHUT UP, Chance!", two voices at the same time hissed at him via earpiece.

"What?" Chance, hanging out by the back entry of the club, unsuccessfully tried to stifle his chuckle. "I would have done it, but 30 inches, no way… Next time we hire someone, okay? Some little thief… a cat burglar… would be a good addition to the crew anyway, wouldn't it? Some female element…"

"HELL NO! When women enter the picture, things ALWAYS get messy!" Winston was not in the mood to mince words. He was still trying to get rid of the oil again, but it kept sticking to his hands.

"That's what you get when you buy the cheapest oil possible, dude."

"This goddamn job is already pro bono, shall we throw even more money out the window for that extra virgin crap?"

"Okay, next time Winston will take Guerrero's pores into consideration and Guerrero promises to bring a sponge with a handle. There's movement behind the windows, looks like Harry's silhouette, you think we can put the gastronomic discussions aside for a moment and rescue him?"

"Only because I want a shower more than seeing him dead", Guerrero growled.

... … …

About an hour later Harry was safe and sound again, although a tiny bit hypoglycemic. Guerrero was on his way to the nearest shower, Winston had mumbled something about drinking with his cop buddies "to get rid of the images".

Chance was thinking about grabbing some Chinese on his way back to the office, then figured he could just as well eat something at the night club. Hard to believe that down here people had continued clubbing, dancing, having fun while upstairs bullets had been exchanged… at least till they had managed to explain Harry's unfortunate role in a mean plot of the main thug's second cousin. He was heading for a family reunion of the special kind now and Harry was off the hook.

The club had a comfy looking dining section with a promising menu. Chance's stomach growled in anticipation as he imagined something in the direction of a well done T-bone steak – a growl that turned into a disappointed snarl when Chance discovered the section was closed for the night thanks to some speed dating event.

Grrrrr… the participants all had plates with rather delicious looking heaps of finger food on the table between them. Granted, nothing like a T-bone steak, but for starters… Ah, no… Chinese take away was just as well and he could watch TV while…

Hang on a second.

A familiar face.

The dog expert!

The woman from the park who had lectured him about training Carmine.

Chance's eyes began to sparkle with mischief. Food and the opportunity to get back at her? This was way too good to miss out on.

Pretending to be one of the speed dating participants and ending up on her table posed no problem at all. The look on her face alone was worth the trouble.

"You should close your mouth. At events like these you wanna play it cool." Chance wolfed down a small sandwich. Damn, this stuff was tiny but delicious. Guerrero would have had fun here.

"Come to think of if you should also sit up a bit straighter. Bad for your spine, you know, sitting hunched like that all the time. Luckily lots of bad habits can be corrected with a bit of training and consistency. I suggest joining the local Y. They've got great back therapy training courses." Chance polished off a small pastry filled with really good meat. So good, he immediately grabbed another one.

The woman's eyes turned into slits and she made a sound that reminded him a tiny bit of Carmine when he heard the mailman come.

"You think you're so funny."

"What are you doing here?" Chance tried his hands at three-layered savory muffin. Not bad, too.

"Speed dating", she hissed.

"No", Chance munched, "you're not. Your clothes are way too frumpy, your haircut is at least two weeks old, your make-up looks like you applied it at the last minute and you haven't done your nails. Women who participate in speed dating leave nothing to chance. They finally want to find their Mr. Right. You're either in desperate need of a dating coach or somebody dragged you here. A friend? A colleague?"

Her mouth fell open again and he knew he had hit the mark.

A bell rang to signal the end of the five minute period the participants had with each other before the partners had to change again. Chance grabbed one last pastry, winked at her and left as quickly as he had appeared.

Later that night, after the speed dating event had eventually come to its long-yearned-for end and Jamie had just made it over her doorstep, her telephone rang. A Wisconsin number.

"And…?", Cassandra asked, amusement not even barely hidden in her voice.

"Nothing but idiots", Jamie replied, grabbing the box with the fish food and heading over to her fish tank.

"Look, I know, you want to try new things, and I do understand, but you're terribly bad at it… you don't even remotely…"

A loud "Ugh" from Jamie interrupted Cassandra.

"Jamie?"

"I think my fish have died."

"May God give rest to their poor souls." Cassandra took a deep breath and turned serious. "Look, why don't you take this as a sign from above telling you to pack up and…"

"No. I'm not going home. These are just stupid dead fish. The only thing they're telling me is that fishkeeping is not my thing."

"I suggest trying cactus growing next."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

"Ugh…" Chance let out a sharp gasp. Guerrero's blows somehow seemed to connect harder than usual, just this side of causing damage. The last two kicks would surely leave bruises on his ribcage.

After years and years of sparring with each other and numerous encounters with thugs that they mastered fighting side by side, Chance knew better than anyone else that Guerrero was a close combat expert. Nobody he knew was this much in control of his body, even in pain and/or under great stress.

There was only one possible explanation for his rough handling of Chance today: He was doing it deliberately.

A violent blow to the shoulder in combination with a fierce leg sweeper sent Chance crashing to the floor. Chance broke his fall at the last minute, rolled over, arched upwards, caught Guerrero around the hip with his legs in a scissor movement and imbalanced him enough that an abrupt shift of weight sent him down to the matted floor, too. His bare chest heaving from the impact, he ended up lying right next to Chance.

"Care to explain?", Chance asked.

"Your latest ex-girlfriend escapade."

"Still?" Chance rolled his eyes. Usually Winston was the one who couldn't let go. Guerrero being this persistent about an aspect of what was clearly his personal life was pretty uncharacteristic. "For such a firm supporter of privacy you're transgressing quite big time here…"

"You almost got Winston killed", Guerrero said, not a trace of humor in his voice. He was dead serious.

For a moment silent reigned between them. Then Chance sat up, clambered to his feet and walked over to one of the large warehouse windows.

"Was it really that bad?" He hadn't been with Winston when he had received the injury on his back. He had had his hands full with Margarita, his ex in need.

Yeah, Margarita… she wasn't carrying this name because her parents had liked a certain alcoholic beverage so much. It had more to do with the similarities of her personality and the effect three margaritas could have on a person…

"Yes." Guerrero got on his feet, too, but he remained standing in the center of the room.

One simple word, but it hit right where it hurt. Chance didn't want to imagine a world without Winston any more than a world without Guerrero.

Nevertheless….

"Look, I get what you mean. My exes are a problem, yeah. I'll work on it… You really don't need to get involved…" Chance kept staring out of the window.

"Dude… trap… moon…"

"Whom I date or not is none of your business. Remember when I told you to stay away from that girl in Osaka?"

This hit where it hurt, too.

"I learned from my mistake. You, dude, aren't even trying. Seriously not cool."

Chance was getting frustrated with the conversation. Guerrero was getting on his nerves big time. Not to mention that bringing up Winston's injury had been really low. At his age Winston could have a comfortable desk job by now, with a regular cop's salary and the prospect to a solid pension. Instead he was risking his life pretty much every time they went on a job… not to mention what the Old Man would be doing to him, should he ever locate his former employee.

And all because Winston had chosen to become friends with him, Chance, killer, thug, crook… Chance could feel Guerrero's eyes boring into his back. He wouldn't let him off the hook.

"Okay, just to get you two out of my hair – McGregory's, Friday evening, we'll hang out together, Winston can bring someone from his book club, I'll bring a normal girl. Does that count as "trying"?"

Guerrero decided it did.

… … …

A couple of hours later Chance found himself lurking in the vicinity of an unobtrusive apartment house, waiting for the dog expert to show her face so he could fake a coincidental encounter and lay the groundwork for dragging her off to the evening with Winston and Guerrero at the end of the week.

Why her?

Good question. Well, Chance's official explanation was that he and Jamie Prince (retrieving the dog expert's name from the speed dating organizer's database had been a piece of cake – Chance knew a thing or two about hacking, too) had already met and Chance could work on that.

Yeah. As if Chance had ever had any problem charming his way into a woman's good books.

Truth to be told, Jamie was so unsympathetically normal, not to say boring and annoying, after meeting her his friends would surely refrain from ever interfering in his love life again. He counted on the fact that as his friends they would want him to be happy and that a normal girl like Jamie would simply not be enough… he needed someone by his side as adventurous, action-loving, adrenaline hooked as himself.

The door of the apartment house opened and out stepped, finally, Jamie. She was carrying a plastic bag in her hand. To Chance's surprise she didn't head to a car. Apparently she was planning to take the plastic bag for a walk. Okay… made trailing her much easier.

Three blocks down the road he eventually bumped into her. "You again!", he exclaimed. "One more time and I suspect you're stalking me."

His joke fell flat. She just stared at him, deep frown on her face. "I was on the way to the pet shop", she finally said, shaking the plastic bag in her hand. "Maybe you want to join, they've got great diet food for larger dog breeds there."

Chance ignored the jab at Carmine's weight and his implied incompetence as a dog owner. The plastic bag in Jamie's hand had caught his attention.

"You realize those fish are dead?", he asked.

"Yes. That's exactly the point."

He shook his head in confusion. "You've just lost me."

"They died after a week. I want a refund on my money."

Now it was Chance who was staring at her, not open-mouthed, but pretty flabbergasted.

"I followed the instructions in the book they had recommended me meticulously. This shouldn't have happened."

"You regard fish as tools, too, don't you? The concept that living creatures don't work like machines is pretty alien to you, isn't it? Life is unpredictable."

Suddenly her face darkened with an angry shadow. "Fish are stupid", she hissed.

For a brief moment Chance wondered where this sudden hostility was coming from. Yes, she hadn't exactly been friendly before, but this was a different, far more sinister mood.

"No, they aren't. And I can prove it. What about it?" He looked at her with one of his trademark lopsided smiles.

Unlike most women, Jamie didn't smile back. But after a brief moment of hesitation she shrugged. "Care to explain that in more detail?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

"I'm more of a _show, don't tell_ kind of guy", Chance replied, now openly displaying his little boy grin.

Boy, was she immune to that. Her dead fish showed more reaction to his attempts at nonverbal flirtation.

Chance felt challenged.

"Think of it as an adventure. First we dump some bodies and then we'll hang out a little, around some really special characters of the underworld." He added light winking to his repertoire.

Her eyes still just stared at him without the slightest hint of softness, amusement, interest. Not a single one of the reactions he usually produced so easily. There was just darkness.

Maybe he should just sort through his collection of telephone numbers and make one of the respective ladies happy with an unexpected call. With a bit of thinking he'd surely find one looking "normal" enough by Winston's and Guerrero's standards.

"I'm sorry, I don't…"

She turned to leave and he could just let her go, let Jamie Prince walk out of his life as unspectacularly and unobtrusively as she had walked in. He was pretty sure he'd never see her again if he remained silent now.

But there was something about her slumped shoulders, the frown on her face, the thin lines at the corners of her mouth… Could it be that she wasn't this gruff on purpose? That she just didn't know what to make of his playfulness?

"What about a visit to the Aquarium of the Bay?", he asked her retreating back.

She stopped. She turned around. Looked at him.

"I've heard of it…", she muttered, very reluctantly.

"It's a great place. Come on, trust me."

He waved down a taxi before she had the chance to make up her mind. Of course he could have offered her a ride with his own vehicle, but he was a stranger to her and she apparently very cautious by nature. A taxi was surely safer from her point of view – less chances he could mug her. Bag with dead fish still firmly clutched in her hand she clambered into the car with him and they made the short trip to the aquarium.

Chance silently debated telling her Jamie should just dump the fish in a garbage can before entering the building, but judging from the way she was holding on to the bag he had the feeling it was not a good idea, asking her so flippantly to let go of them. For some reason they seemed to be important to her.

He wondered if she had some sort of mental problem, but according to the personal file he had pulled from her employer's database everything was fine in that regard, not record of institutionalization or psychological treatment at all. Jamie Prince, 35, was a structural engineer with a degree from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and very good employment references. She had only just moved to California a few weeks ago – maybe that's why she behaved so oddly. From America's Dairyland to the Golden State, it _was_ quite a culture shock after all.

The aquarium offered lockers and he made sure the dead fish were safely tucked away before they entered the Discover the Bay exhibition. At first Jamie didn't say anything – which was apparently pretty much par for the course with her, as far as Chance could tell by now. They looked at newly hatched Skates, juvenile perch, a swirling school of anchovies…

"Close your eyes", Chance suddenly said.

Jamie hesitated.

"Just for a moment", he insisted, tilting his head, eyes twinkling.

And lo and behold, for the first time ever since they had met his demeanor had an effect on her. Figuring that there really wasn't that much that could happen in a room full of people she shrugged, sighed and closed her eyes.

Cautiously, very cautiously, so as not to spook her, he took her by the shoulders and steered her towards a large fish tank by the exit of the room.

"Open them again."

Her eyes widened in sheer wonder as she caught sight of an extremely bright orange fish. It was oval shaped, displayed rather large, shimmering scales, a deeply notched caudal fin and softly rounded lobes. Its mouth was rather small but the lips, in comparison, were huge. The animal was swimming right by the tank's glass.

Jamie stepped as close to the pane as possible and for a minute or two just wordlessly stared at the creature's golden body that seemed to glow on its own in the dim light. Every graceful move it made seemed to accentuate the enormous brightness of its color even more, sending ripples of gleaming sunshine along its whole body.

"That's not a goldfish, is it?", she asked.

"It's a Garibaldi, California's official marine state fish", Chance explained.

"Quite fitting…", she mumbled as she walked off, deep in thought.

As they continued their tour of the aquarium through the facility's huge glass tunnels Chance noticed that tears were gleaming in the corners of her eyes.

The second tunnel they entered brought them face-to-fin with a Sevengill shark as it soared right over their head. "That's what you meant, isn't it? _Characters of the underworld_ – you were talking about the ocean, about deep water predators… you were trying to make me laugh by sounding like some sort of cliché criminal."

At the look on Chance's face she actually did start laughing. "Yeah, I know, I'm not really good at understanding jokes…"

Chance took her by the hand and led her to the last part of the aquarium, the Touch the Bay exhibition. "When I say _hang out with_, I really mean _hang out with_", he chuckled and a moment later Jamie found herself looking at a touch pool, offering her the opportunity to literally lay hands on bat rays, big skates and…

"Are these SHARKS?"

"Come on, don't tell me you never wondered what they feel like…" He took her by the hand again and while the first time around she hadn't paid much attention to the physical contact, it had just been a way to lead her in a certain direction, she was now becoming acutely aware of it.

Chance, too.

Her fingers were trembling slightly, he could sense her nervousness, her uncertainty… He needed to be gentle. If he somehow forced her now…

"Actually no, I never did…"

"Trust me", he said softly and just waited.

Jamie stared at the sharks… they were not that big, but their teeth… For now her hand was resting safely cupped in the hand of that strange man, Chance, who for whatever reason kept popping up in her life… had dragged her here… maybe she would have visited this place without his insistence, some time in the future… it was on the list she had made. But would she have paid attention to the Garibaldi, the shark, the touch pool without his company… or would she have blindly stumbled through everything, another item on her list to tick off before she moved on to the next task?

Chance felt her relax. Slowly he pulled her hand into the water and kept it cupped in his own. A young leopard shark approached, circled the new object and finally brushed past it so close, they could feel its raw skin moving against their own.

Jamie gasped. A shiver ran down her spine and involuntarily she retrieved her hand and leaned into Chance.

Just as involuntarily he wrapped an arm around her and held her.

"Are you going to tell me why you cried after seeing the Garibaldi?", he asked softly.

"Now I'm sad that my goldfish died", she replied, barely audible, and new tears threatened to run down her face.

"I'm sorry." Chance truly was. "I didn't want to make you cry."

"It's okay." She wiped the tears away. "It _is_ sad when something dies. Just brushing the sadness away, pretending as if death was nothing… that's wrong…"

Now Chance was sad, too, because damn, was she right.

They buried her fish together at a remote place by the Bay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

Usually when Chance tried to officially date a woman a job cropped up out of nowhere and brought everything to a crashing halt within twenty-four hours. So when he told Jamie he would meet her at the Presidio's dog park for an afternoon with Carmine, he half-expected a desperate call from some soon-to-be client, or Winston walking into his living-room with a frown on his face and a file tucked under his arm. It was also entirely possible that one of their contacts at SFPD had a referral for them... these cases were always urgent, too, and required immediate attention. Not to mention any information regarding retaliation campaigns against Chance himself. Tony Belvilacqua had publicly sworn if he ever as much as saw Chance again he'd shoot him in the knee caps, put him in a steamer trunk and sink him to the bottom of the Bay. Guerrero kept a close eye on Chance's enemies. Any heads up from him demanded reaction without delay.

None of that, however, happened.

Chance spent the morning of the day he was going to meet Jamie first working out and then video playing, prepared to hear the familiar ringing of the phone followed by Winston's calm, collected voice reassuring the panicky, scared to death caller that help was on the way.

The phone remained silent.

By noon Chance actually went downstairs to check if everything was _really _okay and found Winston pouring over the latest bills, rubbing his forehead in deep concern regarding the payment of the next mortgage. When Chance asked if anything was up, Winston broke into a rant about Chance's way too liberal approach when it came to pro bono cases. "We cannot let them all off the hook just like that only because they've got a sad life's story! Unless of course you want to run business out of a card board box on the street one day!"

Chance decided that apparently yes, everything was fine and no new job had come up so far.

As he walked up the stairs again he called Guerrero. "Kind of in the middle of something here, bro", he said. In the background someone was groaning painfully. "Dude!", Guerrero snapped. "What did I say about not bleeding on the ElDo? Seriously not cool!" Then he returned his attention back to his friend "Sorry, Chance, I'm a bit caught up right now." And up he hung the phone.

So, nothing attention demanding on that front either.

Well, it could still be that Harry came up with something at the last minute.

Chance went into the bathroom, splashed water into his face, rubbed it dry with a towel and finally, his hands grabbing the sink, looked at himself in the mirror. What the hell was going on with him? It was almost as if he was hoping that something would prevent him from meeting Jamie.

Why?

_He_ had proposed the meeting. _He _had suggested going to the dog park. She hadn't said a word about wanting to meet him again. No sign of flirtation whatsoever from her. Quite frankly, the idea of Jamie _flirting _was a bit scary. Those dark shadows underneath her eyes, those thin lines at the corner of her mouth... they matched well with the unsmiling expression on her face and her general attitude towards the world.

But when he had asked her to get together, a tiny spark had lit up in her Job 17:7 eyes and the corners of her mouth had twitched upwards. His suggestion had made her happy... and turned his stomach into a knot.

Were Winston and Guerrero right after all? Was he afraid of dating a normal girl because he didn't want to get attached and then lose her?

NO.

They were not right!

Not. At. All.

Truth to be told, he was afraid of the repercussions Jamie would have to face because of him. The women he usually ...spent time with... expected certain things from him... things he was more than ready to deliver. With Jamie it was a totally different story. She, for whatever reason, didn't seem to be expecting anything... from life... from... the people around her... from him. At the Aquarium, without actually planning to do so, he had begun teaching her that there was more to the world than just breathing, eating, sleeping, like some sort of biological robot.

That was dangerous. The old Christopher Chance had done something very similar to him and it had forever changed his ways, long before he had met Katherine.

_Nobody deserves to die. _

Boy, had that sentence cost him sleep.

Establish ties like that with a person and you're forever responsible for everything that comes out of it. Winston had led a quiet, regular cop's existence. Of course, working in the homicide unit can't always have been fun, but in general... A monthly salary, pension claims, a health insurance, evenings at the bar with his cop buddies... And what did he have now? Chance thought of the deep gash in his friend's shoulder and Guerrero saying it had been close.

What if Jamie got hurt, thanks to him, like Winston? What if he let her down, just like he had let Katherine down?

He shouldn't have started this, but now that he had, he needed to go through with it. At six he met Jamie at the dog park.

... ... ...

Jamie was terrified. At this time of day the dog park was full of people and their dogs.

"Do you realize how dangerous this is?", she asked, staring in shock at the sheer number of pet owners and their respective animals running about the place freely. "Carmine could pick up kennel cough... or get hurt in overly rambunctious play..."

"He's vaccinated", Chance smiled. "And we regularly visit here, he's used to socializing with the others."

"But what if he encounters a dog with behavior problems? Most pet dogs spent the majority of their time home alone, deprived of sufficient stimulation and thus bored. They develop all sorts of bad habits and violently lashing out at fellow dogs can be one of them."

"I know what you mean but well-socialized dogs usually defuse explosive situations on their own, with dog methods. We just have to trust his skills..." He let Carmine off his leash. A moment later he had found his first playmate and soon enough a whole group was running around, chasing each other, romping around, yelping and yodeling with delight.

Suddenly a huge white shepherd dog showed up. "He's displaying clearly dominant, challenging behavior", Jamie warned and tensed. "Call Carmine back!"

"Trust him", Chance said. "Look how Carmine is licking his lips, yawning, approaching in an oblique path. You know more about dogs than I do... that's appeasing behavior, demonstrating to the other dog that he means no harm."

"Yes, but what if the other dog..."

At this very moment Carmine and the shepherd first sniffed at each other, then started jumping around each other and a moment later the white dog was running with the rest of the lot.

"See? He..." Chance stopped talking in mid-sentence.

Jamie was crying.

"Hey, were you really that worried about my dog?"

"No", she replied. "I envy him."

For a moment Chance just looked at her, wondering what to say. Then he followed his instinct and pulled her into a tight embrace. At first she tensed, but then the warmth of his body overwhelmed her resistance. She let out a deep breath.

They stayed till the dog park closed. Jamie wanted to head back to Chance's car, but he took her hand and led her to the bench where they had first met. He sat down, pulling her with him and holding her in his arms again. Huddled together, with Carmine sitting on sentinel duty right by their side, they watched the sun set.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

"You didn't call me yesterday." Cassandra's voice was a mixture of concern and lots of mocking amusement.

"I'm sorry, I just… I just…" Jamie wasn't quite sure what to tell her. _I spent the evening watching the sun set snuggled up in Chris' arms _sounded so totally positive, optimistic and life-affirming – _that_ coming from _her_, _Jamie, _of all people?

Cassandra would probably die from shock.

"The guy who took you to the aquarium…?" More amusement from Cass, but no more mocking and it was tinged with a definite note of curiosity.

"He's… quite nice…" Although Jamie was on the phone she lowered her head and eyed the floor. A delicate pink hue suddenly made her pale face shimmer.

"Did you show him your apartment yet?"

"Subtleness is really not your thing, is it?" Jamie pressed her lips together in disapproval.

"You've been subtle all your life. The whole idea behind moving to San Francisco was turning a fresh leaf, wasn't it? Show him your bedroom. Unless of course you still haven't set up that bed of yours and are still sleeping on a mattress on the floor."

Jamie decided to ignore the question. "Well, tonight we're going out to a bar, to meet some of his friends and, I don't know, whatever you do at a bar…" Only now she realized how nervous she was about the evening. What if his friends didn't like her?

"Every evening at a bar ends at some point. Take him home with you."

… … …

Jamie wasn't the only one nervous about the evening, however.

"Do you realize how ironic it is that you put me under pressure to bring a date and then both of you show up alone?" Chance still couldn't quite believe it.

"Monica came down with a flu bug this morning", Winston said. "And I can't ask anyone else from the book club – she'd find out and I would have to find another one… again." He gave Guerrero a sinister look. He had no solid proof that that lowlife had somehow caused his expulsion from the first book club, but…

"Job came in, K had to grab it", Guerrero shrugged, openly grinning at Winston's book club remark. "You know how things are on the freelancer market."

"Your date's name is _K_?", Winston asked.

"Yeah. Last name is Smith."

"K. Smith? Could there be a more obvious false name?" Winston rolled his eyes in a well-practiced gesture of exasperation.

"She's got all the legal documents, dude."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Chance rubbed his forehead. He usually enjoyed his friends' bickering. He had been very unsure about Guerrero meeting Winston and the first year had definitely been volatile, mildly put, but by now there was more show to their endless back and forth than true animosity. When push came to shove, Guerrero would protect Winston and vice versa.

Today, though, they were getting on his nerves. What would Jamie say if she found out she'd be alone with three guys? She was cautious by nature, stuff like that could make her bolt. He didn't want to scare her.

… … …

It turned out Jamie was way too busy pretending this whole bar thing was not completely new to her to be scared of Winston and Guerrero. Granted, when she saw Guerrero she hesitated for the briefest of moment – the girl had good instincts – but that was it. They settled down at a table, Jamie took in her environment with wide-eyes, the waitress came…

"Could you change the channel, please?", Jamie asked her, a request that definitely took Chance by surprise. The TV was rather far away from them, blaring away pretty much unheeded by the patrons, they couldn't even hear it from where they were sitting, why was she asking for another channel?

Guerrero, eyebrows arched in immediate interest, obviously asked himself the same. "You don't like Queen of Style?"

Jamie turned pale as a sheet.

"Queen of Style?", Winston asked. "What the hell…?"

"It's on next", Guerrero explained. "A fashion-based show. Runs from Monday to Friday, each week in a different city. Five contestants are given a common motto. Equipped with a budget of 500 bucks and four hours of time they have to put together an outfit matching the motto – dress, shoes, accessories, hairstyle and make-up. They can take a friend to act as shopping counselor. Each day one contestant is filmed during her shopping tour and awarded points on a scale from one to ten by the other contestants. A star designer provides extra commentary and additional points. The winner will get the title "Queen of Style" and one grand prize money."

"You thinking of participating?" Winston laughed out loud. "Or why else do you know all that shit?"

"Private business, dude", Guerrero shot back.

Jamie uneasily wriggled about on her seat. She seemed to be wanting to say something, but apparently, for the life of hers, couldn't come up with anything.

Why in the world… could it be…? Naah, not her, not in a million years… on the other hand…

"Did _you _take part in that show?", he incredulously asked her. "And this is the episode you're in?"

The look on her face said everything.

"We've got to watch this at the office!", he burst out, laughing.

Jamie stared at him in sheer horror.

Yes, Chance knew he was being mean. But on the other hand…. His mischievous side got the better of him.

"Come on!" He grabbed her hand and dragged her to her feet. "You're a TV star! Let's enjoy that on a big screen!"

… … …

"Why did you participate?", Chance asked, handing Jamie a carton of Chinese takeout. She was sitting next to him, deeply sunken into the sofa. Carmine, sensing her uneasiness, had sprawled himself over her feet, providing his special way of dog comfort.

"Cass' idea. The shopping counselor. She's my best friend", Jamie mumbled.

"Did she force you at gun point?" Munching away, Guerrero picked around in his noodles. "'Cause that's the impression you make, dude."

"She wanted me to try something new…"

_Could you be any more motivated if you tried?,_ Cass on the screen asked an extremely sullen looking Jamie.

_She looks like she's going to bite the make-up artist's hand off._, the designer commented.

The motto for the outfit was "A night at the opera". Winston wondered if any woman in the world had ever looked more miserable in a dressing gown than Jamie. Not to mention the face she made when they put high heels on her feet.

Even before her rather spectacular fall.

Cass on the screen prevented Jamie from buying the first dress that half-way fit – in mint green. Instead she made her put on a dark red gown, very simply cut but extremely suitable for Jamie's thin, tiny figure. Lo and behold, she suddenly had a décolleté and, thanks to the high heels, a butt!

"Do you still have that dress?", Chance asked.

"Must be somewhere", she shrugged.

The show ended with Jamie getting 36 out of 40 possible points.

"Who won in the end?", Winston wanted to know.

Jamie's reply was barely audible: "I did."

… … …

"Aren't you proud of yourself?", Chance asked as he gave Jamie a lift home. Parking space was scarce in the street where she lived and thus he had to stop two blocks away. Of course he insisted accompanying her to her door to make sure she arrived safely.

"It was Cass' achievement, not mine."

Half-way to her apartment a sudden downpour of rain caught them by surprise – no chance to take cover, they had to keep moving – and were drenched when they arrived at her doorstep. Jamie had no choice, she had to ask Chance in.

"You're not much into furniture, are you?", he commented, rather astounded. The apartment was almost devoid of any kind of furnishings. This looked as if she only just had moved in, there were still boxes standing around everywhere, she seemed to be living out of them.

Jamie didn't reply.

"You're freezing", he said. "I'll draw you a bath."

… … …

As Chance opened the faucet and watched the water swirl into the tub he couldn't help but think how horribly miserable Jamie had looked in her dripping wet clothes, face pale as a ghost's… he shouldn't have made her watch that show. What had he been thinking? He had seen it as a harmless prank, he had wanted to laugh along with her, but instead he had made her completely unhappy.

What had frozen her so badly? He poured soap into the water – unfortunately no real extra bubbly bath soap, she didn't seem to have that kind of stuff. He wondered if he should just leave now – yeah, his clothes were drenched, too, but he had come back to the office in much worse shape.

Or should he…? No, he would only upset her even more.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

… … …

At the calling of her name, Jamie stepped into the bathroom.

And froze.

"When you said you'd draw me a bath, I figured I would actually get to use it."

"There's plenty of room in here…" Chance couldn't have replied with a more innocent voice.

"You. Are. In. It."

"Now, seriously, don't tell me I don't look appealing… with the foam and all…" He blew a bit of foam in her direction.

Jamie didn't say anything, she just stood, staring at him, frozen to the spot.

"What are you so afraid of?", he asked softly.

She still didn't reply, but she also didn't walk away.

Chance reached out and took her hand. "Of this?" He kissed her hand.

"Or this?" He rose from the water and kissed her forehead.

Jamie fought a smile as foam brushed against her nose.

"Or of this?" His hand wandered to the hem of her wet shirt, he grabbed it and pulled it off over her head.

Jamie started shivering.

"The water is warm. Once you're in here you won't shiver anymore, I promise."

He opened the button of her jeans and pulled her pants down.

"You're beautiful", he whispered. "Amazingly beautiful."

He removed her bra and she shivered even more, staring at him wide-eyed, on the brink of panic, but not running away.

"Trust me."

He pulled her panties down, too.

Jamie took the tiniest of steps towards the tub. Chance reached out, embraced her and pulled her with him into the water.

"Don't worry, I got you."

… … …

"Don't you dare use office equipment for your damn side jobs!", Winston thundered as he found Guerrero in the middle of the night sitting at his desk, working on the computer. A massive traffic jam thanks to the unexpected downpour and a subsequent mass accident had forced him to crash on Chance's sofa.

"Just some research, dude", Guerrero replied darkly and turned the screen blank before Winston could see the photo of Jamie he had been looking at.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement. **

Chance came back to the warehouse in the early hours of the next day. He had wanted to stay but Jamie had sent him away, stating she needed a couple of hours to think about everything.

"You're always overthinking stuff", he had mumbled, planting kisses on her glowing skin.

She had giggled, rolled him over onto his back in a mock wrestling move and kissed his mouth, soft and passionately, but way too briefly. "I'm serious about this", she had said, climbing off him and smacking his shoulder to rouse him.

"But when I'm allowed to come back you wear that gown for me that earned you the Queen of Style title, my lady."

Jamie hadn't reacted for a moment so long, he had wondered if finally exhaustion had been kicking in and she had fallen asleep with her eyes still open.

"No, I'll put it on now", she had then suddenly said, getting to her feet. "It's a gown designed to be worn at night. Daylight chases its magic away."

"Your words?"

Jamie had looked at him in surprise. "No, Cass' words… She said that when we bought it. Back then I didn't understand what she was talking about… now it makes sense…."

It had taken her twenty minutes to put her dress on. After the long day and the activities of the night Chance had felt ready to close his eyes and get a wink of sleep, but on the other hand… his fine hearing sense could make out every delicate rustle of the gown's chiffon cloth, fueling fantasies about how it would feel to remove the soft fabric from her smooth skin again.

When she had finally stepped out of the bathroom, Chance had only been able to agree with Cass: At night this _was_ a magic dress. Its dark ruby color seemed to radiate in the silver moonlight seeping in through the windows. Truly a sight to behold.

Not that it had stopped him from removing it again.

Afterwards – a long time afterwards – she had clambered out of bed again, picked up the dress from the floor and held it in front of her while looking at the mirror.

"You are beautiful", Chance had breathed into her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"This is the first time I really like this dress", she had replied, almost absent-mindedly. "You really got to go now."

… … …

Chance knew something was up the moment he saw Guerrero sitting on the sofa of his living-room. He was perched on the edge of it, like some sort of vulture, one of those constantly hunched over types with huge gray wings, crooked beaks and bald heads. Granted, Guerrero wasn't bald, but the rest… you get the idea.

It didn't help that he hadn't turned on any lights so that he was sitting in semi-darkness, barely visible against the dim shimmer from the city's numerous streetlamps, car headlights and other sources of illumination.

Quite the reminder of old times… Guerrero was sitting in classic assassin position when the hit was a personal issue and the exchange of a couple of words was required before things got down to business.

"Did I piss the wrong people off? Did someone finally name an amount that outweighs your loyalty?" Chance flopped down onto the sofa right next to his friend.

Guerrero's mouth didn't even twitch. Instead he poured both of them a drink.

"Job came in. Rio de Janeiro. Thought we could use your old friend Paloma as our contact on the spot."

"Paloma?" Chance shook his head in disbelief. "Last time we worked with Paloma Winston ended up in immigration custody, you were portrayed by a nude drawing class and I woke up in a morgue."

"Your definition of fun, dude."

"What became of the "enough with the troublesome ex-girlfriends"-rule?" Chance's voice was slowly losing its playful tone. Something was up.

"Should have respected your privacy, bro."

This was the closest thing to an apology Chance had ever heard from his friend. Now he was alarmed. As in "red alert status".

"Spill it out already."

Guerrero didn't say a word.

"There's no job in Rio, right? Why the hell do you suddenly want me to see Paloma again? What about Jamie?"

Again Guerrero didn't say anything. He didn't need to, though. Chance knew he was bang on target.

"You just had to dig around, hadn't you? What the hell did you find out? Drugs? Prostitution? An array of dead ex-husbands? Whatever it is, I don't…"

"It's not her past, bro. It's her future. She doesn't have one."

Somewhere in the back of his mind Chance appreciated Guerrero's bluntness. There was just no nice way to break news like that. Beating around the bush usually made things only more painful. But at this particular moment the shock and grief outweighed everything else.

"Aneurysm, dude. Discovered a couple of months ago. Prognosis: Less than a year."

Chance didn't doubt Guerrero's words. He knew his friend would never ever tell him something like that if he hadn't checked and re-checked the facts.

"Let's go to Rio, dude. You've got enough bodies in your life already, you don't need another one." Guerrero pushed the drink towards Chance.

Chance didn't take it. For a very long time he didn't move at all. Not even his breathing rate changed, but Guerrero could sense the tension building up inside of him. He was ready to explode. Damn, Jamie had managed to get through his armor….

"I get it, dude. I wouldn't let you meddle in my affairs either", Guerrero said, got up, briefly touched Chance shoulder and walked towards the door. "Come on, I'll give you a lift."

Now Chance was puzzled.

"Guess you'll want to talk to her… You don't really think I'll let you ride your motorbike in that state of mind, do you?"

… … …

When they arrived at Jamie's apartment – the sun had just risen – a hearse was just leaving. A woman was standing on the sidewalk, huddled in a jacket too heavy for the mild Californian climate.

"Cass?" Chance asked, voice rough as sandpaper.

"You're Chris, aren't you? I was already heading to the airport when she called me…. arrived a couple of hours ago… had a feeling… She looked very peaceful, as if she was sleeping… not much of a consolation, I know."

Tears were running down her face in one thick, constant stream.

"I knew this day would come… but still… she knew it, too… left a letter for you…" With shaking hands Cassandra gave Chance an envelope.

… … …

Chance waited with reading Jamie's letter till he was back at the warehouse, alone except for Carmine.

_When I knew I was going to die I looked back at my life and wondered if I had ever really lived. Cass encouraged me to try out all the things I had always been too scared for, too well-composed, too no-nonsense… but it didn't work. I did as she said, made new experiences, even moved away to a city that so many people describe as the most beautiful place on earth. But I never "got" it… I never felt what I was supposed to feel: Happiness, laughter, joy… It was all meaningless to me. Just like back home the world still seemed colored in nothing but shades of gray. And then you came… Before we met I thought I was beyond rescue… you saved my life. _

Winston and Guerrero arrived at the warehouse about half an hour after Chance had finished reading the letter. The expression on Winston's face was easy to decipher: Was this too much? Too similar to losing Katherine? Had Jamie's death opened his most terrible wound?

"Don't worry…" Chance poured all of them a drink. "I know I saved her. I know."

And that was all that needed to be said for the rest of the day.


End file.
